The Only Hope For Me Is You
by highlyfunctioningmikyla
Summary: It's been 8 months since Sherlock 'died', John thinks he's starting to go mad with lonliness, So what will happen when he returns? Post Reichenbach. Rated M, just to be safe. Does contain slash! John/Sherlock
1. Chapter 1

**The Only Hope For Me Is You**

**Heyo peoplo**

**Mikyla here, obviously **

**This story is going to be a short one, just 2 or 3 chapters **

**And yes it is a My Chemical Romance song, I like MCR and I needed a title so I thought I'd use it **

**This story is basically Sherlock's return to 221b and to John! DUN DUN DUN! **

**The first chapter is before he comes back, it's basically how John's life has been and how he's coping with loosing Sherlock**

**Please review! **

**Enjoy!**

**Love Micky xx**

Chapter 1: I Miss You 

Dr John Hamish Watson was a very average kind of man.

Every morning he got up, he had breakfast, he went to work, avoided his ex-girlfriends. He put on a brave face, and tried not to think about when he would return back to an empty 221b Baker Street.

221b Baker Street hadn't always been empty. In fact it was John who kept it empty. Nobody would ever take the place of the person who had made John's life never boring. Now John was always lonely.

People said he was heart broken, which when he thought about it he supposed he was.

For the past eight months John had tried to ignore the whispers in his brain that threatened to drag him down so he would never get up again. Every time he closed his eyes he fought to find the will to open them again.

John Watson was very much heartbroken.

He couldn't find it in his heart to talk to attractive women, or even look at attractive women. It was like he didn't seem to see their faces anymore.

For the past eight months John could feel his gradual descent into madness. He wore his old flatmate's scarf just to remember the way he used to smell, if that didn't say he was mad John didn't know what did.

Everyday John would sit on the end of his dead best friend's old bed and tell him how his day had been.

"Today I had eggs for breakfast, you always liked eggs. Had coffee with Molly this morning, she was nice really, you should had laid off her a little bit sometimes. Black coffee with two sugars, just like you used to have, and I never used to have sugar in my coffee it used to make it too sweet, but everything's bitter now. A girl gave me her number today at Angelo's, he still gives me free food you know, he still believes in you, but you don't need to worry, I'm not going to call her. So today was ok. Oh who am I kidding? Today was awful! It was boring and dull and empty and I hated it! Mycroft keeps trying to talk to me, it's all his fault you're gone. I wish you'd come back, I miss you so much, I remember that time last month when I slept in your wardrobe just because it reminded me of you, but don't worry I wouldn't disturb anything, everything is exactly how you left it, even your sock index. I just can't bring myself to change anything, it's kind of my way of keeping you here. I still believe in you, you know, I will never stop, not ever. Nobody will ever convince me that you lied to me, nobody!" John always ended his talk saying the same thing he begged at the head of his dead best friend's gravestone everyday before going to work and once work was finished "One more thing. Just one more miracle Sherlock, for me. Don't be dead. Could you do that? Just for me? Just stop it, stop this!" And then he would get up and leave, not entering the room again until that time the next day when he would repeat the same agonising process over and over again.

John supposed that he had been in love with his best friend. Sherlock had been the ting that had kept him going everyday. Sherlock understood him completely, he could tell how John was feeling and he had always known how to make it all better. Not even the great Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, could make it all better now.

He was dead. Dead and gone. Buried in the graveyard under stone and soil.

John knew he was kidding himself every time he saw someone who reminded him a little of Sherlock.

His heart skipped a beat every time he saw someone tall, or pale, or skinny, or had the same nose or eyes or the same curly hair.

John knew he was definitely going mad.

Talking to yourself was the first sign of madness, and John had been talking to himself , or rather to the imaginary ghost of his dead companion, for the past eight months.

John felt a little of his soul burn and die every time he remembered the last day of the detective's life. The day he and John had both died.

Tomorrow, 6th January was Sherlock's birthday. John wondered if Sherlock would had remembered. John could recall last year's birthday when Sherlock had been very confused when John had handed him a neatly wrapped present. Talk about surprise party.

Sherlock's birthday. Would anybody other than John remember? 6th January and the 14th June. The two days that John dreaded living through. How would he cope? He would wonder allowed to the detective that wasn't there.

Hw would he cope?

How would he live?

How could he keep going?

"I miss you Sherlock." His Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello readers**

**Here is chapter 2 of my story **

**And Sherlock comes back in the chapter! Yay! **

**RATED M FOR A REASON! This is a little graphic! So beware! You have been warned! Do not say that I didn't warn you! **

**Please review! **

**Enjoy!**

**Love Micky xx**

Chapter 2: Hello Again 

Semi-skimmed milk. John had almost forgotten to pick it up. John never usually forgot the milk, Sherlock was always short on milk. Milk was a necessity.

John checked the shopping bag to see if he had forgotten anything else. Nothing else was missing. He had eggs, bread, biscuits, sugar, tea bags, bag of apples, margarine, marmite and now milk. How dreadfully simple and boring. Sherlock would have turned his nose up at the prospect of such a pointless shopping trip. But Sherlock was dead, John reminded himself.

John had awoken lying across the carpet in Sherlock's room with red tear tracks staining his cheeks. It was very unlike John to cry, before Sherlock had thrown himself from the roof of St Bart's Hospital John couldn't remember the last time he had cried.

6th January. Sherlock Holmes' birthday.

John took a long rasping breath into the scarf that had belonged to the detective. It was starting to loose the smell of Sherlock, now it smelled more like John.

John felt hot tears bubble in his eyes. No, he was not going to cry here, not on his street, not when 221b was just in sight. Once he was inside, then he would let his emotions bring on the flood.

John slotted the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

He wiped his no longer dry eyes as a small drop of salty water ran down his cheek.

He climbed the stairs, determined not to let his emotions overtake his body before he reached the comfort of his own living room.

He pushed the door open and entered the flat, not looking up.

It took John less than a second to realise that there was somebody else in the flat. He looked up.

A gasp from John's lips quickly followed by the thud of the groceries hitting the floor "You…"

"Hello again John." the man said. His voice was husky and quiet, his icy grey eyes scanning John.

This was a different man to the one that had jumped from the top of St Bart's Hospital. He was a lot thinner than John remembered, his cheek bones were more prominent and his eyes were sunken in his face. It wasn't hard to tell he had been living rough. He had tried cutting his own hair and failed dramatically, the curls were shorter in some places than in others and they had been sliced jaggedly and unevenly, there were bruises across his the usually clear skin of his face, there was a painful looking bloody slash just below his right eye and another along the left side of his jaw and his long spider-like hands bore painful looking blisters and sores. His cloths were obviously not his own, the skin tight jeans, well fitting shirt and long coat had been replaced by baggy faded blue jeans, a black cotton AC/DC t-shirt and a shabby looking navy rain coat, all of which were several sizes to big for him and hung limply on his skinny frame. There was a small faded backpack on the sofa.

John's jaw dropped "You…you're…dead…"

Sherlock Holmes stared back into John's eyes "Do I look dead John?"

John felt his paralysed legs spring back into action.

He ran to Sherlock and shoved him with all his might against the wall. Sherlock seemed to fall in slow motion, down down down until he hit the floor with a sickening thud.

John gasped as he watched his best friend wince and clutch his arm in pain. He looked broken and defeated, sprawled across the floor boards like that.

"I'm sorry." John cried grabbed Sherlock by the arm and pulled him to his feet and up into a tight embrace.

Sherlock's long arms wrapped around John and his head lolled on John's shoulder.

John grasped handfuls of the detective's hair and breathed in the heavenly scent "I hate you." he growled through gritted teeth "I am never talking to you again."

He felt Sherlock's body shake in a cry of pain and amusement "I missed you too."

John felt the tears that had been threatening him all morning finally gush out of his eyes and run down over his cheeks as he buried his face in the crook of the taller man's neck.

He felt Sherlock shudder as John's face made contact with his neck.

"Where the fuck have you been?" John hissed.

"Alek hid me." Sherlock whispered in John's ear.

"Who's Alek?"

"Aleksandr Ozerov, a Russian business man, friend of Mycroft's, he owed me a favour." Sherlock explained.

John's voice broke "I could have hid you." he whispered.

He felt Sherlock's head shake "No you couldn't, they were after you, and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, I had to get away from you all, I had to protect you."

"You…you came back…" John stammered.

Sherlock nodded "I came home John."

John felt his heart implode.

He released Sherlock and stared up into his icy-grey eyes. He ran his hand up Sherlock's back and up onto his shoulder before it reached his chest, he ran his fingers over the place where he could feel the detective's beating heart. Beating, with blood flowing through it. Beating and very much alive.

John shoved Sherlock roughly against the wall and crashed his lips down on Sherlock's.

Sherlock's arms creped up John's arms and entwined themselves around John like vines, pulling their bodies closer together. John's tongue dated out of his mouth and ran itself along Sherlock's bottom lip before darting into the detective's mouth. Their teeth smashed together as they drew their bodies tighter to each other.

John felt lust for his best friend threaten to overwhelm him as his tongue explored the inside of Sherlock's mouth.

They stumbled blindly into the hallway, John's fingers fumbled roughly with his friend's t-shirt, pushing him back into Sherlock's old bedroom until the back of Sherlock's knees collided with the bed and fell backwards onto the blankets that hadn't been washed or changed since he had last slept in them those long eight months ago when the two best friends had been separated, John climbed up onto the bed straddling the detective as Sherlock wrapped his long skinny limbs around John pulling their bodies closer together. John buried his head into the crook of Sherlock's neck inhaling the familiar scent of his skin that he had missed for a long time, not wanting to ever forget this moment. John pulled the faded oversized t-shirt up over Sherlock's head, Sherlock's chest was slightly bruised and every single rib was visible due to his constant lack of appetite. John's finger tips traced Sherlock's skinny chest sending shivers down the detective's spine. John's lips found the way back to Sherlock's who entwined his long skinny fingers into John's sandy hair. John's fingers creped to Sherlock's belt, unbuttoning his baggy blue jeans, Sherlock kicked off his trousers, fumbling with John's belt, tugging his jumper over John's head in one swift fluid movement. They both trembled slightly as they were stripped of their cloths. Sherlock lifted his soft lips off of Johns and ran them along his jaw down to his neck and along his collar bone, slowly running them along the faded scar on the doctor's shoulder.

Sherlock was scared, John could tell in the way he feverishly twitched, John lifted his face a little to look into his best friend's grey eyes, he felt a warm comforting sensation grip him as their eyes met, Sherlock felt it too because suddenly his fear was replaced by giddy anticipation, he crashed their mouths together their teeth and tongues meeting. Tentatively John hooked his thumb around the rim of Sherlock's boxers, he felt the detective hesitate before giving a tiny nod to show that this was what he wanted. John pulled Sherlock's boxers down his long slender legs before kicking off his own. Sherlock whimpered slightly as John pressed their naked bodies together. John felt blood pulse round his body quicker as well as blood rushing to certain parts of his body, the knew the same had happened to Sherlock because he felt the detective's pale cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, he lifted his mouth off Sherlock's lips and ran them along his jaw to tell him that everything was absolutely fine. He trust his body against Sherlock's, he heard the detective whisper his name into his neck. They clung to each other as their hips jutted together. They simultaneously gasped, John held on tightly to Sherlock as he shuddered, the wet semen coating their skin. John ran the rim of his tongue along Sherlock's pale cheek, tasting the sweet salty sweat that clung to the soft bruised skin.

Neither of them said anything for a while, they just lay still, panting slightly, trying to get their heads round what had just happened.

It was Sherlock who broke the silence, he pressed the tip of his nose and cheek to John's face and whispered "I love you John, thank you."

John ran his fingers up Sherlock's boney back and wrapped his arm around his neck, clutching him in a tight embrace "I love you too." he whispered into Sherlock's shoulder "Don't ever leave me again."

Sherlock rested his head against the scarring in John's shoulder "I won't."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello readers**

**Here is the final chapter of this little story **

**I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it **

**I really makes my day when people review so please review review review **

**And thank you for sticking to this story, it makes me very happy ****J **

**Thanks again**

**Love Micky xx**

Chapter 3: Awake My Soul 

John's eyes opened and he blinked trying to get a clear picture of his surroundings.

Then all the memories came flooding back and he twisted in the covers to see Sherlock who was curled up next to him, silently breathing deeply in and out, dark circles under his eyes.

John smiled as he surveyed his best friend…boyfriend? Partner? Lover? Which ever one it was.

Sherlock shifted a little in his sleep, he looked awful, the bruises really stood out and the gashes across his cheek and chin looked swollen and painful. There was as small yellow rim around the cut below Sherlock's eye, John made a mental note to give Sherlock some antiseptic for them later just in case there was a risk of infection.

He lifted his trembling hand and ran the tips of his fingers slowly along the detective's pale cheek, almost as if he was scared that Sherlock wasn't really there and that it had all been some kind of illusion.

Sherlock was definitely alive.

Either that or they were both dead.

Questions flowed into John's mind like water in a running river.

Why had he done it?

How had he done it?

What would have happened if he hadn't done it?

Was this what Mycroft had been trying to talk to him about?

Did Mycroft know?

Did anybody know?

Why had he suddenly come back after 8 months?

How had he come back?

Why had it taken so long?

Was he going to leave?

Was he going to stay?

What had happened to him?

How had he managed to get to beat up?

What would everybody else think?

Who was buried under the headstone that bore his name?

But all of these questions meant nothing to John. It didn't really matter if they were answered or not.

What mattered was that Sherlock Holmes was alive.

Alive.

With air filling his lungs. With blood running through his veins. With thoughts manifesting his brilliant brain. His body moving. His heart beating.

Sherlock Holmes was alive.

John slumped back down into the pillows.

Tea. He should make tea. No, coffee. Coffee was better.

He sat up, pulling his discarded trousers and jumper over his body.

He took one look back at his sleeping best friend/boyfriend/partner/lover before leaving the room.

He was half way through making coffee when he heard a cry from the room.

"John? John!"

He rushed back into the room, abandoning the coffee "Sherlock?"

Sherlock was sitting up in bed, the blankets covering most of his body below his shoulders, rubbing the side of his chest next to his stomach.

"You ok?" John inquired, slowly sitting down at the foot of the bed.

"No." Sherlock hissed in pain through gritted teeth, clutching the side of his body and wincing slightly.

John ran his finger along the bruise near to where Sherlock's hand was "What did you do to yourself?" he whispered.

"Alek said I shouldn't go looking for Moriarty's gunmen." Sherlock paused "He was right, a little bit."

"How can you be a little bit right?"

"Well, look at me John." Sherlock indicated the bruising "But, if I hadn't gone after them I wouldn't be back here with you." he explained.

John nodded "I see. So they did this to you?"

Sherlock nodded, still clutching the side of his chest "Yeah."

"Where are they now?"

"Dead or in prison, not quite sure, Alek managed to get me back in contact with Mycroft and once I found them he would take care of them."

"So Mycroft knows you're alive?"

"Oh yeah. I asked him and Molly to keep and eye on you, but Mycroft said you weren't really responding that well to him."

"Wait!" John interrupted him "Molly knew you were alive the whole time and she never said anything!"

Sherlock bowed his head slightly, almost as if he was ashamed "I'm sorry John."

John felt his momentary anger ebb away when he saw Sherlock's beaten, guilty expression "No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have got angry." he gently pressed his lips to the top of Sherlock's curly head.

"No, it's not that John. I'm sorry I had to go, I wish I never had to leave." Sherlock explained, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

John surveyed Sherlock. He knew he loved the detective, knew he'd do anything to keep him safe and happy. He pressed their foreheads together gently so they were at eye level "I was so alone for so long after you died, I missed you so much. Everyday was like a battle of will power to just keep on living. But, I forgive you."

"Thank you John." Sherlock whispered, not looking up.

John leaned forward and kissed him once more.

"But John, last night, I…" Sherlock trailed off.

"What about it?"

"It…it meant a…it meant a lot to me…" Sherlock struggled, almost as if he couldn't quite find the words.

"It meant a lot to me too, and…" he paused "When you…died, I guess I realised that I love you, and I'm sorry I never told you that, but I'm telling you now. I love you."

Sherlock finally looked up. His icy eyes wide, almost as if he was staring into John's soul "I love you too." he paused for a second "You are the first person I ever said that to."

"What about family?"

Sherlock shook his head "No, not even family, you are the very first. And last night was my first too."

John smiled "It feels good to be the first. Feels kind of pure. You know?"

Sherlock shook his head again "No I don't know, but I understand what you mean."

John kissed him again "I'll be your last if you want."

Sherlock laughed slightly "I'd like that."

They sat in silence for a minuet, their foreheads still pressed together.

"So, what are we now?" John asked.

Sherlock's brow furrowed "What do you mean?"

"Well, you were my best friend, but now I think were more than that." he blushed slightly "Like boyfriend or something like that?"

Sherlock sat in thought for a moment "I can be your Sherlock, and you can be my John."

John chuckled lightly "That works for me."

And they kissed again. They both felt a pleasant warming sensation in the pit of their stomach when their lips met. Like they had somehow become one. Like they had become whole.

It was Sherlock that broke the kiss "I think maybe we should tell Mrs Hudson I'm not dead."

John snorted with laughter "I'll tell her, you'll probably give the poor woman a heart attack."


End file.
